Favorite Things
by alittlebreathlessness
Summary: Shelagh and Patrick intend to see 'The Sound of Music' together, but things don't go as planned. Set mid-1965. [Meant as a coda to my two-part A Peculiar Irony, but it didn't properly fit as a third part.]


"Well, Angela," Patrick said as he swung his daughter's hand on the dark walk home. "Did you like the movie better the first time or the second time you saw it?"

She yawned deeply, dragging her words. "It was better with Timothy."

"Oh," Shelagh looked at Patrick, "and why is that?"

Angela shrugged sleepily and leaned into her father's arm. "I dunno, everything's fun with Timothy. And you didn't act like you liked it very much..."

Shelagh and Patrick sighed in unison. The evening had not gone according to plan. They had arranged it so carefully, too: a night out at dinner and then the cinema, just the two of them, perhaps stopping for a coffee or taking a leisurely stroll afterwards. Patrick had suggested they do it a few days after Timothy returned to university, and she suspected it was to soften the blow of his departure. She was grateful for the distraction. Patrick was supposed to come home from work early so they could go out for a quick bite to eat before the show. Shelagh had arranged for Mrs. Dodd's teenage daughter to watch Angela, assuring her that they would be home before midnight. Angela would be fed and bathed and on her best behavior and Shelagh and Patrick would be on their merry way well before the picture began.

Everything fell apart before Patrick even got home. The Dodd girl had called to beg off half an hour before her arrival due to a mysterious "previous engagement" that Shelagh strongly suspected wore a handsome navy uniform and played guitar. There was no way she would be able to acquire another sitter this late in the day, and her mind raced as she asked Angela to go out and play in the garden while she figured out what to do.

Patrick did not make it home early due to several patient appointments running long. He was over half an hour later than they had planned to leave, knowing as soon as he entered the house that they would have to skip their dinner out to catch the film on time. Angela had run from outside when she heard her father arrive, covered in dirt up to her knees. Shelagh was too frazzled to scold her, instead sending her upstairs to change.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Shelagh."

She wrung her hands in front of her apron. "Patrick, our evening may have to be postponed. Pamela Dodd canceled at the last minute and now I'm afraid there's no one to watch Angela. And even if we left right now we'd hardly make it in time for the picture…" She looked at her hands sadly.

Patrick moved closer, still in his overcoat, and placed his hands on her shoulders. This would not do; tonight was meant to be a happy evening. He sighed as the weight of reality settled in his mind. "I'm not sure I'll be able to get home early enough any time soon, darling. And the next few weekends are out of the question…"

Shelagh nodded her head with tight lips, still looking at her hands. The creases between her eyebrows deepened and he recognized her attempt to hold back her tears. "It's all right," she said, pasting on an accepting smile, "we'll do it another time. Maybe not this film, but another."

He hated to see her disappointed. There was so little he felt he could give her, so many plans that they had to cancel over the course of their marriage; he hated adding to that list. "Why don't we just bring Angela with us?"

"But it will be so late when we come out, Patrick, and she has school tomorrow. And now we don't have time to eat before we go."

"Oh, one late night won't hurt her. And we'll get her a popcorn, hmm?" He pulled her to him and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "I want to take my wife to the cinema tonight, and no hungry five-year-old is going to stand in my way." He felt her light laugh against his chest.

"I suppose we could take her," her head snapped up and she looked him in the eye, the creases in her brow returning. "But this was to be _our_ night."

Patrick grinned. "It still can be." Her blush and smile were what he had been looking for, and he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips.

When he had called upstairs to Angela, asking if she would like to go to see The Sound of Music again, she squealed in delight and danced down the stairs. Her enthusiasm made up for her parents' initial disappointment.

They'd all walked briskly through the streets, Angela holding hands between Patrick and Shelagh and jabbering incessantly about the film they would be seeing. Her parents each tried to seem engaged in her excitement, though at times they would steal sideways looks at each other that yearned for what the evening might have been: the two of them, walking hand-in-hand, like a young couple courting.

"Then there's the funny song about goats and they have puppets. And there's a whole song about favorite things, too!"

"Yes, we know darling, you haven't stopped singing it for a week," Shelagh teased.

"My favorite things are the color blue and my doll named Beulah and daisies. What are _your_ favorite things, Dad?"

Patrick wound himself up dramatically, "Well, I think my favorite things are named Angela and Timothy and Mummy. And I love fried bread. And I quite like that tie you and Tim gave me for my birthday last year."

"Oh, Mum picked that out, we just wrapped it."

He feigned shock, "What? I'm scandalized!" Angela's dismissive giggles made them both smile as Patrick winked at Shelagh. He would make this a nice evening for her no matter what he had to do.

They entered the theater just as the lights were dimming, claiming three sagging seats toward the door. Any hopes of flirtatious handholding were dashed when Angela sat in the seat between her parents. They smiled at each other over the top of her head as the credits began, submitting to the magic of the music.

As it played, Patrick tried to focus on its plot and music, but he was distracted by the promise of what this evening could have been with no child between them, if the sitter hadn't canceled and he hadn't spoiled their dinner plans by getting home too late. He tried to brush Shelagh's knuckles when she reached for popcorn, but she did not catch the playfulness of his clumsy fingers and removed her hand to give him a turn. Twice Patrick felt Angela prod him in the ribcage with her elbow.

"Mummy's crying again."

Shelagh hadn't expected to be so moved by the film. The music was everything Angela had described and more. She had to brush many tears from her eyes at the truth she recognized in the main character, Maria. The moment when the young nun confesses to her superior of her uncertainty in the love of a man was like reading from her own diary. Coupled with her emotions from Timothy's recent departure, she turned into a weeping mess for large parts of the film, occasionally receiving reassuring pats on the shoulder from Patrick stretching over Angela's seat.

When the last chords of the score filled the dark theater as the family climbed over the mountains, Angela was snoozing soundly, her little hands clutching the half-empty bag of popcorn. She stirred when the lights came up, and they waited together as people filed past them. Shelagh was dabbing her eyes again and Patrick was stretching when they heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, Dr. Turner, Mrs. Turner! Out for an evening on the town?" Fred was blocking half the aisle, causing other theatergoers to detour around him.

"Hello, Fred!" Angela cooed, rubbing her eyes.

"Good evening, Fred." Shelagh smiled heartily up at him. "Yes, we decided to come out as a family tonight." A quick glance to Patrick. "I'm a bit surprised to see you here, though, Fred. You don't seem the type for musicals."

"Ow, this is the third time I've seen it, 'innit? 'S that Eleanor Parker. She gets me every time. You seen The Voice of the Turtle? I seen it five times back in '47. Reminds me of my wife, she does. She's the blonde in this'un," he gestured toward the screen behind him, "the baroness. She ein't in it much but I still like the music. An' I seems to be drawn to them nuns, eh?" His belly jiggled as he laughed at himself.

Shelagh stood and took Angela's hand. "We quite enjoyed it too, it was very sweet."

Angela nodded. "I've seen it twice!"

"Well 'course you'd like it," Fred chortled, "it's practically the story of your lives!" He laughed in earnest now, failing to see the widening eyes of the elder Turners, or the subtle shift in their postures. They were both praying Angela was too tired to hear what he had said.

She wasn't. "What do you mean?" She asked. Her face had the quizzical pout of concentration.

Patrick placed a hand on her back, ushering her into the aisle behind Shelagh, who was moving slowly toward the door. "We really must be getting home, Fred, it's past Angela's bedtime…"

But Fred hadn't heard him. He was still looking at Angela's frowning little face. "Oi, Miss Angela, your mum and dad were just like them in that picture, you know? Nun marryin' a widower 'n all that. Ein't you never heard about that? 'S all the nurses are talking 'bout these days thanks to good 'ol Julie Andrews." He smiled at Patrick and Shelagh, instantly regretting what he had just said when he saw their expressions of anxiety. They watched him realize that he had told a secret, fumbling over a few wordless syllables before giving up an attempt at retracting his statement.

In the silence Angela Turner's head shot back and forth between her parents. She did not fully understand Fred's words, but the questions were written in her eyes before she was able to formulate them verbally.

Shelagh took a quick breath and began walking. "It was nice to see you, Fred, but Dr. Turner is right. It's very late and Angela has school tomorrow." Patrick remained as the two of them walked away, shaking Fred's hand and muttering something Shelagh could not hear over the click of her heels on the pavement.

When he caught up a few seconds later and slid his hand into Angela's, Patrick met Shelagh's eyes with a sorry tilt of the head and a crooked smile. Her worried face over Fred's question to their daughter prompted him to to attempt a distraction.

"Well, Angela, did you like the movie better the first time or the second time you saw it?"

She yawned deeply, stretching her words. "It was better with Timothy."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"I dunno, everything's fun with Timothy. And you didn't act like you liked it very much... Why were you crying, Mummy?"

Even in the dark Patrick could see her cheeks flush. "Oh, sometimes grownups cry when they are happy or something reminds them of something they forgot. " There was no use skirting the issue, she thought. The questions about what Fred had said were bound to come one way or another.

"Is that what Fred was talking about, Dad? What did he mean, when he said you and Mummy were just like the movie?"

Patrick stopped walking, causing Shelagh and Angela to be tugged backward as they stepped forward unknowingly. He looked down at his daughter and then at his wife, knowing from the submissive shake of her head and the smile on her face that he could go ahead, that this was as good a time as any to tell the child about their past.

He bent down, dropping her hand so he could lean on his own knees. "Well, Angie, Mummy and I _were_ like the Captain and Maria. Because she used to be a nun at Nonnatus House and we fell in love after Timothy's mum died. And we got married and then you came along."

Angela's eyes were wide as she tried to absorb the secret her father had just told her. Shelagh knelt down beside her and held both of her hands, planting kisses on the palms. "Dad and I met when I was still working at the convent with Sister Julienne and Sister Evangelina. I was a nun there for a long time but I decided to leave because I wanted to be Daddy's wife and Timmy's mummy. And we wanted to adopt you and have a family of our own." She dropped more kisses onto Angela's hands. The child knew her own adoption story, thankfully, so this was not all a complete shock. But her eyes never changed from their saucer-like state until Patrick took one of her hands from Shelagh and kissed each of her fingers.

"Mummy! Daddy! Did they make The Sound of Music because of you?" Her mouth was wide, revealing two missing teeth.

Patrick shook his head, "No, not because of us, darling, it's just a very funny coincidence."

At her puzzled expression Shelagh clarified, "That's when two very similar things happen at the same time."

"Wow! Does Sister Julienne know? Can I tell Freddie about it? Did you have to climb up those mountains too? How do you leave if you fall in love, I mean do you just walk out? What if you change your mind?"

Patrick and Shelagh took turns answering her slew of questions as they walked home, laughing as each one became more elaborate and unrealistic than the last. Angela didn't stop asking questions until she was in her nightgown and Patrick tucked into her bed, where she dozed as soon as her eyelids fell.

He found Shelagh in the garden under the moonlight, exhaling the smoke of a cigarette she had nicked from the box on the mantle. She handed it to him as he brushed against her, leaning on the side of the house. They passed the cigarette back and forth in silence until it died and Patrick threw it to the ground and stamped it out. Shelagh's head fell to his shoulder and she linked her arm in his, squeezing gently.

"Tonight turned out rather differently than I thought it would," she chuckled into the darkness. "Did she ever stop asking questions?"

Patrick sighed. "She fell asleep right after asking if she can have a wedding dress like yours because it was so much better than the one in the movie. I didn't even have to answer."

"Oh?" she laughed. "Well, I just hope she doesn't go spreading the story around the schoolyard."

"We'll be the talk of the playground. Local celebrities. People will be coming round asking us to perform a marionette show and sing songs about our favorite things. Speaking of which," he turned toward her, leaning his shoulder on the brick and shifting the hand on his arm to hold to his lips. "I always get asked the difficult questions like, 'Daddy, what are your favorite things?' It seems Mummy should have to answer, too." He kissed her hand again.

"Oh, Patrick, you know what my favorite things are," she smiled and stepped closer.

"Tell me," he whispered in her ear before burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck.

"Well, there's the lovely scarf I received last Christmas that I like very much. And hedgehogs always make me smile. And you know my weakness for Mel Torme."

"Mmm hmm, what else?" His lips were behind her ear now, his teeth teasing her lobes.

"Of course Angela and Timothy are on my list –"

"You stole that one from me."

" – and I like lemon custard and raspberries. Anything sweet, really. I like this little bit of gray in your hair." She ran her fingers through it. Patrick was nibbling at the base of her neck, pulling down the collar of her blouse. She was caught between the wall of the house and his body, pressed firmly beneath his warmth and the cold brick. His hands were on her sides and then her shoulders and then her hips. She felt she could stay here for hours, doused in his scent and the warm breeze fluttering through the garden. "And I quite like outings with my husband when our plans aren't disrupted."

Patrick pulled away. "I'm sorry the evening wasn't what it was supposed to be. We were both looking forward to getting out alone. And all that nonsense with Fred was so... unexpected."

"_The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry_," she recited in his ear. "But that doesn't mean we can't make new plans."

He felt her kiss his cheek and could smell the cigarette they'd shared on her breath. The wind was blowing her hair, a few strands tickling the sides of his face as she pulled the lapel of his jacket to bring him closer. He rested an arm above her shoulder on the wall, taking her lips with his and pressing his chest against hers. With his eyes closed he felt her fingers entangle those on the hand he rested on her ribcage. She gave him a gentle shove, slid from his embrace, then tugged him away from the wall. As they walked into the dark house, spontaneously planning the rest of the night with each item of clothing that Shelagh dropped to the floor on the way to their bedroom, Patrick knew that in the morning he would definitely have to amend his own list of favorite things.


End file.
